


Home (I Haven't Been in Years)

by spinninginfinityboy



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Road Trip, Christmas, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Madeleine Era, Minor Injuries, Picnics, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Theological Debates, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-17 21:43:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21850174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spinninginfinityboy/pseuds/spinninginfinityboy
Summary: Newly transferred from the bagne and entering his first post as a police officer, Javert is sent to Montfermeil to oversee a winter festival. When the coach breaks down and leaves him stranded in a small town with no clear route onwards, his only hope of getting there on schedule lies in whatever strange errand Monsieur Madeleine has set out upon. The two travelling companions must find their way to Montfermeil before Christmas day, and perhaps find something unexpected along the way.Or; I rewatched Planes, Trains, and Automobiles, and gave the story to some characters living before any of those things really existed
Relationships: Javert/Jean Valjean
Comments: 9
Kudos: 34





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The canon divergence in this fic is primarily that Javert does not know Valjean, and Valjean has never met Javert directly. They meet for the first time when Javert begins his journey to Montfermeil, and thereafter when he begins work in Montreuil-sur-Mer. Also he hasn't made Inspector yet. It's gonna be a bit of a ridiculous endeavour, but what is the point in Christmas fanfiction if it isn't a little ridiculous and self-indulgent
> 
> Comments & feedback always welcome, I'll aim to update this regularly enough that the whole thing will be up for Christmas. Yes, I know P,T&A is a Thanksgiving movie, but nobody involved in this story is American, and the premise remains the same
> 
> Enjoy x

The meeting was entering its second hour of silence. Javert sighed, but only inwardly; the first day of his new employment was hardly the time to show signs of insubordination. Still, he found himself to be less taken with the Chief Inspector of Montreuil-sur-Mer than he had hoped. The man had been praised by the Paris Prefecture in past years for his diligence, but Javert saw now that their reports failed to mention the degree to which his diligence came at the expense of his efficiency. At the desk across the room, M. Deniaud turned over another leaf of paper and hummed between his teeth. At length he seemed ready to pronounce his verdict, mouth halfway opened and revealing the yellowed teeth of a habitual tobacco chewer; at length, his mouth closed again, with no sound having been emitted.

Javert gritted his teeth.

“Yes,” said Deniaud, solemnly. Like a dog upon the hunt, Javert’s ears pricked forward, straining to receive the command. Agonizing moments more ticked by, marked with resolute finality by the clock upon the wall. “Yes,” the man repeated, “That will do. Sergeant… Jaccoud, was it?”

“Javert.”

“Ah, yes.” Deniaud raised his greying head. “Sergeant Javert, your papers certainly indicate you to be an asset to our ranks here in Montreuil-sur-Mer. However, with this season upon us, I find we are more than usually short of experienced officers who might be tasked with guiding you through your first days here.”

“All due respect, Monsieur, I am a capable enough officer to make my own patrol through the town.”

“That I do not doubt. However, you are not an officer familiar with the others here in Montreuil, nor are they familiar with you. The nights are dark, Sergeant. The days are short and bitter. Some new prosperity may have befallen the town in recent years, but our people are yet to adjust. There is no cause to introduce a further unknown.” 

Javert fixed his gaze upon the wall above Deniaud’s head and made no further comment.

“Yes,” repeated the Chief Inspector, looking once more to his papers. “Yes, I believe the best course of action would be to send you to Montfermeil.”

“Sir.”

It was a statement, though with enough of a question in it for Deniaud to take it as a cue to elaborate.

“There is a large winter market there, and a festival in four days’ time in celebration of Christmas. There has been trouble there in years past, with the festival proving itself a haven for pickpockets, fortune tellers, and other unsavoury characters. The police there have requested any available officers to assist in maintaining order.”

“Sir,” said Javert again, without question or hesitation. Although this was not how he had envisioned his beginning at this new post, a command was a command, and he would thus endeavor to carry it out to the best of his ability. Deniaud cast a final appraising eye over Javert, raking his eyes from his head to his toes as the younger man stood to strict attention.

“Dismissed.”

As Javert strode from the office and out into the cold streets of Montreuil, he allowed himself the sigh he had kept caged behind his teeth. It came with a hiss, and was whisked away in a harsh winter gust. The dismissal may have been merely a formality at the end of a meeting, but it felt somehow to be something more. All without once having been given the chance to prove his worth to the town.

Straightening his collar, he steeled his gaze and strode onwards. A fiacre from Montreuil-sur-Mer would take him to Abbeville, where he could travel much of the distance to Montfermeil by overnight coach. The old 5-sous carriages still ran certain distances, and it was the most efficient route. A few gamins scurried past, chasing a stray cat and whooping with laughter. Javert glared. Street children running wild were never far from some kind of criminal activity. Any other day he would have pursued them, but he had other tasks, and no evidence to justify the diversion. The dog’s hunting instinct bristled at the new, unwelcome handling of his leash, but he followed his orders, as always.

The streets widened as he approached the town square, skirting the icy puddles left by children splashing water from the fountain. It took focus, for the sun set early in the depths of winter, and the light was fading fast. A fiacre pulled up beside an inn across the way, the horses’ breath forming clouds and dripping down onto the cobbles. Javert quickened his pace. Loath to forfeit his place in the carriage to a drunkard, he made the mistake of taking his eyes from the frost beneath his feet. One stray step too hastily taken and the world gave a sharp jolt, sending the Sergeant to the ground in an undignified heap. Javert bit back a curse. The ice had cracked beneath his weight, and now the freezing water began soaking into his greatcoat. One of the gamins he had seen running past laughed, high and mocking.

“Some policeman, who can’t even control his feet! No hopes of controlling me, that’s a fact.”

Javert growled and rose cautiously to his feet, watching now for any more ice which could trip him. The muddy water began to trickle from his coat and onto the backs of his trousers. With gritted teeth he resumed his approach to the carriage, just as it pulled away from the inn. The discordant sounds of singing drifted back into the square even after the hoofbeats had faded.

Another fiacre pulled up soon after, and Javert was sure this time to be ready. As he made to step in, however, a hand reached out and caught him by the arm.

“C’mon, M’sieur, spare us a ride… I’m dying for a leak and the wife will have me in the kennel tonight if I don’t get home soon with the shopping.”

A man of middle age and ruddy cheeks was stumbling out from the inn, the scent of cheap wine sour on his breath. In one hand he clutched a bag of vegetables and a fresh loaf of bread, likely purchased from the morning’s market and the leftover coins spent on drink and cards. Javert’s lip curled in distaste as he threw off the man’s grip.

“Whatever quarrel you have with your wife is your concern, and not mine,” he said coldly.

“I’ll give you five francs, then,” replied the drunk, “or – hold on a moment – no, make that three.” He counted out the coins into his palm and offered them up to Javert. Rage flared.

“I am an officer of the law,” he spat, “and I do not know what kind of man you are used to in this town, but I do not accept bribes.”

“I do not know what kind of woman you are used to,” came the counter, “but you have not met my Odile. She has the temper of a man, and a face to rival any angel. I wish only to see her smile.”

Javert was about to bite out another scathing comment, but something made him pause. A low rattling sound, the murmur of distant voices. He released the drunk and turned to see the fiacre, his fiacre, driving away. There was one passenger, a man in a deep green overcoat. A noise of frustration tore from his throat and he turned away, striding down the street after the retreating cab. The drunk called after him, anger tinging his words.

“Only thing worse than a copper who takes a bribe is one who doesn’t!” he yelled at Javert’s back. “Serving the public? Or yourself?”

Javert glared at the street and kept walking after the long-vanished carriage.

*

It was truly dark by the time Javert arrived at Abbeville. In the absence of any other options, with no fiacre in sight, he resorted to a cabriolet, and the ride had left him chilled to his bones. The church clock read a quarter past six – no hope of making the six o’clock as he had hoped, then, but the next of the coaches would arrive at around seven. With his deadline not for four days, Javert tried not to mind the delay. Finding himself at a loss for something to do, he walked the streets, endeavouring to learn his way around the centre of town. The scent of something hot and rich wafted from a half open door and Javert inhaled deeply. His stomach growled. Perhaps some supper would be the best way to put his idle time to use.

The inn was a cramped, small affair with a long bench against each of three walls and tables spaced along its length. By Javert’s reckoning, around half of the places were occupied by fellow travelers, judging from the bags and suitcases tucked beneath their seats. One muttered something coarse-sounding, and his companion laughed and glanced at Javert. He forced himself not to rise to the remark. Upon approaching the bar, an older woman raised her head and nodded in greeting. 

“What can I get for you, Monsieur?” she asked him, wiping her hands on a cloth before placing them emphatically on the bar. Javert peered a moment at the menu scrawled on a chalkboard behind her.

“The soup?”

“Certainly. And to drink?”

“No thank you,” he said, “The soup will suffice well enough.”

The woman nodded again before disappearing into a back room, leaving Javert to find a seat. He took up a chair in the corner of the room, a vantage point from which he could observe the rest of the patrons without making himself conspicuous. Most were absorbed in conversation, with only one other sat alone. Despite Javert’s scrutinizing gaze, he could make out very few features, as the man was intently focused on a large newspaper. All he could make out were broad shoulders and a few grey waves of hair curling down and around the man’s jaw. Beneath his table was a small cloth bag, and folded neatly on top of it was a green overcoat.

Javert paused.

A green overcoat, the precise shade worn by whoever had taken the fiacre while Javert argued with the drunk.

Annoyance shivered its way through him, bolstered by his hunger and the freezing journey in the cabriolet. The man had committed no crime, but perhaps a reminder of a civilian’s duty to assist law enforcement would not go amiss. He strode confidently to the stranger’s table and clapped one hand down firmly on his shoulder. The man leapt from his seat and twisted away with surprising strength, causing Javert to instinctively tighten his grip. For a moment they struggled.

“Monsieur, I am sure you know that harming or obstructing an officer of the law is considered an offence,” he began, layering his voice with stern authority. “A fiacre may be only a fiacre, but when you take mine and impede me in my duties –“

Javert’s voice died in his throat as he met the stranger’s eyes. The man was no stranger at all – not a man he had met, but one he knew well enough nonetheless.

“Officer?” asked Madeleine, voice rough and confused. Javert felt the vibrations travel up his arm and realised, belatedly, he was still restraining the man. He felt himself flush as he stepped back, the heat rising within him as though he’d been scalded.

“Monsieur le Maire, forgive me,” he managed to force out, keeping his voice steady with great effort. “I meant no offence nor impropriety, I was merely- It does not matter. I overstepped. Again, my deepest apologies, Monsieur.”

Monsieur Madeleine straightened, brushing at his shirt in obvious discomfort. Javert all but flinched at the movement. This was exactly what he deserved, letting his anger overtake him. He would begin writing his notice as soon as his current task was completed, and seek employment in some other city in the new year. He straightened his back and steeled his nerves as Madeleine spoke.

“My apologies, officer.”

Javert blinked. Seemingly oblivious to his confusion, the mayor continued.

“I did not mean to take a carriage from you – indeed, had I known our shared destination, I would have been happy to ride with you. When I saw you in Montreuil-sur-Mer I thought you to be detaining a petty criminal, or perhaps assisting the drunk man home; it was rather difficult to tell in the low light. Please, allow me to make it up to you.”

The natural order of things seemed, in that moment, to turn upon its end. Javert furrowed his brow and fought the urge to clutch the table for support against this upset.

“Monsieur le Maire, I do not understand.”

“Allow me to please make this mistake right. It is too bitter a night to be left in the cold through another man’s thoughtlessness.”

He smiled at Javert, then – smiled! Smiled graciously and with kindness at a subordinate, and one who had mistreated him so. The heat in Javert’s cheeks refused to dissipate. Still, with an effort, he shook his head.

“Nothing needs to be corrected, sir,” he said, at the same moment as the proprietor called “Your soup, Monsieur!”

“Please, officer. I will pay.”

Before Javert could protest, Madeleine was passing the woman some coins and taking the soup with a smile. The look did not falter as he passed the bowl to Javert.

“There. A little warmth, in return for the chill I inadvertently caused.”

Javert found nothing to do but mutter his thanks, and hastily retreated to his table with shame curling within him. What a foolish thing to do! The soup was too hot to drink but he paid it no mind, eating so quickly he barely tasted it. A burnt tongue might be the reminder he needed to hold it in future, lest he make a similar blunder again. As he ate, he found his gaze drawn back to Madeleine time and again, though he could not say why, and jerked away as though stung when he found Madeleine looking back. Not to recognize the mayor! He had seen the man only in passing, it’s true, but Javert still found it astonishing that he could have failed to notice. Monsieur le Maire was a striking figure, not particularly tall but broad and strong, with hair turned grey unusually early. The effect was pronounced; even in his short acquaintance with Montreuil, Javert had seen the way that women turned their heads towards him from more than deference, and the way that men seemed envious and enamoured by turns. With his grey hair and short-cropped, salt-and-pepper beard, Madeleine offset his imposing strength with a soft and easy countenance.

Perhaps, Javert wondered, he was spending too long on this internal audit of his superior’s appearance. But then, cataloguing features was a vital skill for a police officer. The opportunity to practice had presented itself; it was only right for Javert to seize it. Besides, he had made such apologies as he could, and now there would be no further mention of it. This thought was soothing and cool, a contrast to the sharp heat of humiliation. Like a rock, Javert held it tight to steady his nerves.

The calm lasted until the carriages finally arrived. Javert stepped aboard the second of the two, taking a seat near the door. It was cold aboard the carriage, though he knew it would soon warm from the heat of crowded travelers. He pulled his coat around him and placed his bag, containing a scant few possessions, between his feet, hoping to sleep for much of the journey. If he was to do his job well, he must be well-rested and prepared for the festival preparations. 

For a time, all he heard was the shuffling of feet and the creaking of seats as the other passengers filed in one by one. It was going to be busy. At least he could hope his fellow passengers would have the same idea and would settle down to sleep.

“Excuse me,” came a low voice from the direction of the door. “May I sit here?”

Javert’s heart sank. He raised his head to see Monsieur Madeleine standing there, still with that damnable smile.

“Every other seat seems to be occupied,” he supplied, interpreting Javert’s silence as refusal. In truth, he was simply grossly unprepared for such a thing. What sort of bad luck must he have to be trapped here, again, with the man he had offended, had assaulted, and who he must yet work below? Yes, he must work below Madeleine. Javert shook himself from his thoughts and inclined his head.

“Of course, Monsieur.”

“Thank you.”

Madeleine began to divest himself of his coat, stowing it and his bag securely beneath his seat. Without the large green coat, his shoulders seemed broader still, muscles ill-used but clearly defined beneath his shirt. Javert found himself wondering how a gentleman and factory owner came by such strength. Only rarely had he seen men like that, and most were found in far, far less civilized occupations. Perhaps he would ask around, when he returned to Montreuil-sur-Mer, and see what he could learn of the mayor’s arrival in the town.

“What brings you to Montfermeil, officer?” he asked as he sat down. Javert shifted slightly away from him and replied simply “My work.” Madeleine relaxed and leaned closer, seeming remarkably good-humoured, though Javert could detect no sign that he had been drinking.

“Are my officers so superior to those in Montfermeil?”

“It is for the winter festival, Monsieur le Maire. They say it is a favoured ground for pickpockets and conmen. My assistance has been requested in managing the affair.”

“Please, if we are to travel together, at least call me Madeleine.”

Javert stiffened.

“That would not be proper, Monsieur, seeing as you are my superior and I simply a Sergeant.”

Madeleine lifted a hand in what looked to be surprise.

“Oh! Forgive me, you know my name and yet I have not asked yours.”

“My name is Javert.”

“I shall not forget it.”

There was a strange note to Madeleine’s voice, a faint clouding of his gaze. Had he somehow heard of Javert, found some reason already he should be unsuitable for his post? Surely not- if he sought to have Javert dismissed, the incident in the inn would be more than enough cause. Embarrassment twisted in his stomach yet again.

The air between them felt uncomfortably like silence, despite the noise of conversation around them and the rattle of wheels beginning to turn. Perhaps some conversation was expected? Javert was unused to the idea. Tentatively, he imitated Madeleine.

“Why are you traveling, Monsieur le Maire?”

“There is someone I must see. I would like to meet her for Christmas, and perhaps give her a present.”

The answer raised more questions, but each felt too personal for Javert to press further. Who was this person the mayor must leave his post to visit? Was she some family member, a mother or sister? Was she a lover? Madeleine was said to be a private man. Any further question must be interpreted as an intrusion. No, Javert would say no more.

Unfortunately, the mayor seemed to have other plans for the journey. He settled back against the seat cushion and began to talk about trivial items; the weather, and the likelihood of snow on Christmas, and then on to the seasonal foods he particularly enjoyed. Javert soon found it impossible to follow with anything meaningful, and instead merely nodded and absorbed the information as best he could. At times he nodded his assent or made some affirmative noise when he felt it seemed appropriate, which Madeleine seemed to appreciate. 

As they rode on into the night, Madeleine gradually ceased his one-sided discussion and fell into a drowsy silence. Javert settled his chin against his chest and allowed his eyes to fall closed. The gentle sway of the carriage and steady rhythm of hoofbeats should have sent him easily to sleep, but Javert’s mind remained restless. He would be free of Madeleine come morning, and a mere Sergeant would rarely have cause to directly meet with the mayor even upon his return to Montreuil. Besides, a man’s personal life was his business alone, so long as it was lawful and harmed no other. Nonetheless, the mystery of who Madeleine might be traveling so far to visit kept his mind busy for an hour or more before Javert eventually allowed himself to succumb to sleep, the ghost of some unseen woman haunting him for reasons he could not grasp.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so maybe Christmas is a less feasible end point than Hogmanay at this point. This thing just keeps on getting away from me

Javert awoke to the sound of raised voices. There was no moment of grogginess, no bleary-eyed gaze; indeed, though perhaps it took his mind a moment to catch up, Javert was on his feet with one hand on his truncheon by the time his eyes finished opening. He felt a hand on his arm and instinctively made to draw the weapon in warning. 

The hand was snatched back – more than that, Madeleine flinched away bodily, a shadow passing over his face.

“Monsieur le Maire?”

“Javert.” Madeleine shook his head, brow furrowed. When his usual friendly expression returned, it was with a noticeable effort. “There is no cause for concern. A slight delay, that is all. Our driver says that it was caused by the weather.”

“I heard shouting.”

Madeleine nodded.

“Some of our fellow travelers took umbrage at the delay. Nothing serious.”

As though on cue, one of the angry voices rose in volume and another voice cried out. To Javert’s surprise Madeleine rose from his seat and made for the door barely half a pace behind him. They stumbled together from the carriage and moved together, communicating in silence. Javert seized one man’s collar and hauled him backwards, drawing his truncheon and raising it to press against his neck. A few feet away, Madeleine had grabbed the other man and restrained him easily, pinning his arms behind his back.

“I suggest you lower your voice, and calm your temper,” said Javert, harsh against the man’s ear. “Or I shall arrest you for disorderly conduct and assault.”

The passenger pulled away from him, shaking himself down.

“It was him that started it.”

“Liar!” spat the other man, still struggling against Madeleine’s grasp. Now he took the time to look, Javert recognized him as their driver. Madeleine seemed to notice this too, and cautiously released his grip. “I just told him that no amount of cursing would clear the road ahead. Hardly my fault he took offence.”

“Is that the reason for this brawl?” asked Javert, frowning. “The road is not clear?”

“Unfortunately so, officer.” The driver stepped forward and pointed past them, into the darkness ahead. Javert squinted and could just make out a hulking shape, pitch black against deepest blue. “There’s been a rockslide ahead. It fell shortly after the previous carriage passed. Happens sometimes, with the winter storms. As far as I can see it will be impassable until morning, when we can fetch assistance.”

“So what are our options for tonight?”

Madeleine had approached almost soundlessly. The driver shrugged.

“No sense in waiting. I suppose we will turn back and head for some other place to spend the night. There is a village a little way to the west of here where we may find some food and somewhere to sleep. We can try our luck again come morning.”

“Would you like some assistance in organizing the passengers?”

This was said with a pointed glare at the man who had struck the driver. He glared back.

“I think there will be no further trouble, should the passengers wish for a bed softer than this ditch in which to spend the night.”

They boarded the carriages once more, Javert silently worrying over his schedule. Another delay. He still had time, not being strictly due in Montfermeil until the twenty-fourth, but the constant deviations from his presumed schedule were beginning to wear upon his nerves. 

Madeleine, on the other hand, seemed unperturbed.

“An unfortunate accident,” he remarked as they took up their seats, “but an invaluable opportunity to better explore the local area. Perhaps I shall find something here which could be of use in Montreuil. I hear that all sorts of new civic experiments are being proposed around Paris and into the surrounding country.”

“Proposed and discarded.”

“Why Javert, so cynical!”

Javert looked towards Madeleine, who was regarding him, one eyebrow raised. He shook his head.

“I speak only what I know to be true, Monsieur le Maire. These calls for reform, they are grand plans, but none have yet come to fruition. I would not set your hopes upon them.”

“Without hope, Javert, what else do we have?”

Disinclined to argue his point further, Javert resumed his customary position; arms folded about his chest and chin sunk low, though this time he was not resting but watching. Watching the countryside roll past, all in silhouette and shadow, and watching the mayor sigh and fidget with a string of beads Javert thought might be a rosary. Mostly, Javert watched the stars, unchanging and eternal overhead.

The detour was a short one, but tense. The delay and diversion seemed to have upset the plans of many passengers, and when they arrived in the promised village many disembarked in a rush, frustrated chatter filling the air. Javert elected to talk with the driver, confirming his estimate on the delay to their journey and the likelihood of clearing the path.

“Tomorrow morning, we will send for strong men in search of some small amount of money. They can assist us. Such things are not uncommon this time of year, Monsieur,” the driver assured him. “We know how they may be dealt with.”

“Please inform me of any developments.”

“As you say, officer.”

With that, Javert departed. By the clock in the town square he made it just after midnight. Fatigue was beginning to gnaw at him. The carriage ride had not been nearly as restful as he had hoped. Surely, he reasoned, there must be some inn or lodging house in the village which might offer him a bed for the night.

Almost an hour passed and Javert cursed his own foolishness. Everywhere in town that might have a room to spare was already occupied, most likely by his fellow passengers. They, with much greater wisdom than he, had gone directly to find rooms upon their arrival. Consumed with the bitter irony of being stranded with no room to spend the night so close to Christmas, Javert began to make his way back towards the carriage. He had spent longer nights in less comfortable beds. His joints protested a little more now than when he was a boy, true, but one night could surely do no harm.

“Javert? Is it you?”

The voice belonged to Madeleine. Javert closed his eyes, hoping he had been mistaken. The mayor meant well, but having his travels dogged by a near-stranger who held authority over him was unpleasant enough. The fact of Madeleine’s inexplicable kindness only served to make his presence all the more grating against Javert’s tight-wound nerves.

“Indeed,” he replied without turning. No footsteps seemed to approach, but in an instant Madeleine was by his side. The silent ease with which he moved was disconcerting.

“Where are you going? Surely you don’t plan on returning directly to the carriage. That is no place to spend the night, and certainly will get you to Montfermeil no faster.”

“It is no concern of yours.”

“As mayor of Montreuil-sur-Mer, I have a duty of care to all those in my town. Please, Javert, reconsider.”

“This was not my first choice of lodgings,” Javert snapped, biting back the words too little too late when he remembered who he was speaking to. He dragged a hand across his face. “There is nowhere in the town with a room to spare. I shall survive one night of discomfort.”

Madeleine scoffed.

“Nonsense. Please, come with me – I have found rooms for the night, and I will not see you return to the carriage when you may have a perfectly serviceable bed.” Seeing Javert’s resistance, he added, “If not as a man accepting a kindness, then let it be an instruction from your mayor.”

Try as he might, Javert could find no argument.

Silences of different kinds stretched the night air as Madeleine led the way, a half-step ahead, to their rooms. Javert walked sullenly, with strict attention to the letter of his duty and a concerted effort to ignore the nagging sense of unease about travelling with the mayor. It was beginning to seem as though he would have to make the whole journey this way. Javert was under no illusions as to his personal failings, nor did he delude himself he was yet respected enough to weather such failures unscathed. Monsieur Madeleine was a destabilizing force. And yet he remained unaware of it! Why, even as they walked, Madeleine’s silence was one of quiet contentment and curiosity. 

He hummed under his breath and paused frequently to examine some object of interest; a small statue here, a towering evergreen tree there, even a slow examination of the local church’s architecture. With every one of his pauses, Javert was forced to pause too, or else he would never get a bed. By the fourth diversion, he was beginning to long for the relative comfort of the carriage seats. Grudgingly, he admitted Madeleine had a fine eye. Though he often struggled to see the artistic appeal, or any of the beauty about which people spoke, he understood craftsmanship and strength. The delicate features of the statue, the proud trunk of a century-old tree – these would withstand, a testament to their creator, whoever the creator may be.

At last, they arrived at the lodging house Madeleine had found. The door was latched tight, but Madeleine must have informed them that he would be returning, for with only a gentle knock the door opened. A young woman peered around the frame.

“Monsieur Madeleine, you are back! I was concerned you had become lost in the night.”

Madeleine bowed his head, offering her his most charming smile.

“Forgive me, Mademoiselle. I was simply distracted by the sights in your beautiful town.” 

Certainly a look like that would be difficult to hold any anger towards, though Javert tried. He was cold, and he ached, and dearly wished for some rest. Besides, it wasn’t him the mayor was making such an effort to charm. The young woman coloured gently and stepped aside, welcoming them into the lodging house. Warmth enveloped Javert in an instant, welcome contrast to the bite of the frost outdoors.

“Your rooms are at the top of the stairs,” she said to Madeleine, with only a moment’s sidelong glance towards Javert. “I trust you will – that is, you both will – I hope they are to your liking.”

She seemed to stutter over her words. Javert assumed with a derisive huff that it was some consequence of Monsieur le Maire’s oh-so-charming smile and pleasing looks. When they reached their rooms, however, Javert felt his own face turn scarlet in some cruel, humiliating parody of her pretty blush.

What had been so generously referred to as their ‘rooms’ was in fact little more than one room, with a partition screening away a basin in one corner. A large bed stood against the wall beneath the window, and a fire crackled cheerily in the hearth, but Javert felt only a cold discomfort. One bed. Well, there was an armchair, and a rug by the fire. It would at least be warm where the carriage would not. 

Madeleine muttered some indistinct dismissal to the girl and turned towards Javert, looking almost as uncomfortable as Javert felt.

“I am sorry, officer; I believed that there would be room for more than one, from the way the girl described it. Please, take the bed – the fault is mine, and I have slept in worse places than an armchair at the hearth.”

“No, Monsieur. It would not be befitting a gentleman of your status. I was ready to take the carriage; now I will take the armchair.”

This was met with a wry smile from Madeleine.

“I have not always been a gentleman, Javert. I was a man before I was the mayor.”

“And yet you are not that man now.”

The mayor’s face became suddenly inscrutable, Javert watching the man visibly school his features into something impassive. Another strange reaction. Another puzzle to be solved, perhaps; but now, his mind and body ached and protested with the need for rest. He ground his teeth.

“I shall take the bed, Monsieur le Maire, only if you do the same. It is large enough for two; I am too tired for petty quarrels.”

In truth, Javert’s plan was to rise and take the chair as soon as he heard Madeleine succumb to sleep. Intimacy was not something he desired, certainly never in such a circumstance. But the mayor was known for his stubborn attitude in the face of any unkindness, no matter how slight. He nodded, slow and wary, but it was agreement enough.

Javert turned his back and began undressing, placing his boots by the foot of the bed and his greatcoat on the back of the door. His trousers he removed and folded, and his shirt too, until he wore only his underclothes. Dressed thus, he climbed into the bed with stiff movements.

A horrible silence prevailed.

Javert fought back a shiver, part cold and part sudden fear of overstepping once more. He shifted until he was on the very edge of the spacious bed. No cause to be any closer to the mayor; no cause to witness him undress, or risk some unwanted incidental contact. Another shiver of embarrassment rolled through him. How ludicrous, to be blushing like some adolescent fool! Javert closed his eyes tight, determined not to tempt himself with a glance back towards Madeleine. The stress of the journey must be addling his exhausted mind, for despite his intent effort to look away his mind supplied more than plenty of images in reality’s place.

The sounds of shifting fabric came in halting bursts from the other side of the bed. Madeleine, he thought, would undress with similar care to Javert, taking his time to fold each item of clothing. Javert wondered how his broad shoulders, his strong arms would appear when void of a further layer, and though he chastised himself for the thought it persisted like a splinter in the soft flesh of his mind. The mayor took walks in the sun each day, and had clearly his share of experience as a labourer in his younger days. Did his tanned skin extend beyond his neck? How far did the golden expanse reach, beneath the layers of dignity and starched collars?

It was intolerable. No longer cold, Javert felt unbearably warm and rose from the bed with a gasp.

“Javert?”

The uncertainty in Madeleine’s voice was ice water to a flame. Javert turned to face him and saw – to his relief, yet to his disappointment – Madeleine was all but fully dressed, having merely removed his boots and loosened his shirt.

“Forgive me,” he muttered. “I must wash my face. Travelling does not sit well with me.”

Madeleine regarded him with the same intense curiosity he had shown the landmarks in the town. Javert prayed the dim candlelight and the flickering heat of the fire would disguise his embarrassment well enough.

“Of course.”

The bed creaked as Madeleine lay upon it, and Javert ducked behind the partition to splash his face with cold water from the basin. What madness was this! No, he would not go on this way. With Madeleine in the bed, Javert would soon be able to retire to the armchair and rest alone. The mayor would surely chastise him come morning; but any harsh word or stiff joint would be preferable in Javert’s mind to this irrepressible anxiety, the fear of jeopardizing his position and his dignity only exacerbated by the way Monsieur Madeleine seemed to stir the old sinful curiosity within his chest. Breathing unevenly, he stepped back into the room. Madeleine’s gaze rose to meet his. This time there was no smile – still his face bore the traces of one attempting to conceal some true feeling, most likely disgust or mocking amusement.

“Javert?”

He did not reply. The walk to the bed felt reminiscent of the walk he had seen prisoners take to the gallows. Humiliation at the thought of being so vulnerable in the presence of a superior burned and calcified within his aged, wooden heart. Neither man wore his uniform, but Javert could feel the weight of his all the same. Without raising his eyes, he took up the position he had left, allowing himself as little space as possible. After a pause in which Javert had felt phantom eyes prickling the back of his neck, Madeleine snuffed their candle, and they fell into silence in the dark.

Javert was aware of little else.

Sleep claimed him faster than he would have liked, or even thought possible, given the circumstances. At times he half awoke, hearing sounds of distress or half-choked words muttered by Madeleine in his sleep. Other times he thought for a moment he dreamed – of water, and gunfire, and snow falling around him. Most of all, Javert simply slept.

The morning sun rose slowly in a sky the colour of dishwater. Javert’s mind climbed towards consciousness with the same grey and dogged effort. It took more effort than he would habitually like. This bed had a mattress softer and more forgiving than his own, and the soporific warmth of arms about his waist was enough to keep him all but tethered in his place.

Javert’s eyes snapped open.

“Monsieur le Maire?” he whispered, low and urgent, terror sending nausea rushing through him. Madeleine’s beard brushed harsh-soft against the bare skin of his neck as he shifted his head, and Javert screwed his eyes shut.

“Monsieur!”

This time it was a desperate hiss. Madeleine responded with a slow blink and languid stretch, clearing the fog from his eyes and mind. The movement pressed them closer together and Javert felt all at once what he had forced himself to ignore. Madeleine had one hand about his waist, and the other was between Javert’s thighs at the knee. Heat and shame burst inside of him at the thought of what the mayor might risk finding should he move his hand, and with desperate disregard for protocol – funny even that he should think of such a thing, in a situation for which there were never intended to be protocols – Javert tore himself free, moving hastily to the basin behind the partition once more.

The mirror by the basin mocked Javert with its cold reflection of his shame-reddened face. He swiped a hand through the water, so cold now that it had a thin sheen of ice on the surface, and then splashed the freezing water on his face. It was not enough; he plunged his face forward, letting the water soak his skin and relishing the burn in his lungs as he held a desperate breath. Only when the blood in his ears began to roar louder than his thoughts did he relent, stepping back with a gasp. Dimly, from beyond the partition, he heard Madeleine’s tread upon the boards and the swift closing of a door. 

Javert dressed as swiftly as his trembling fingers would allow. The buttons seemed small and uncooperative, the belt on his trousers too loose and too tight by turns. He prayed, then, that they would never meet again after this inauspicious journey. With any luck, Madeleine would already have left, and Javert could take care to avoid sitting near him in the carriage for the rest of their journey. He would request a transfer, or simply take whichever patrols took him to the parts of Montreuil farthest from the mayor’s office. There would be no need for this to affect him further.

This hope was dashed as he left the lodging house and found Madeleine waiting for him, holding out something wrapped in newspaper.

“What is this?”

“Breakfast,” Madeleine answered, with a cheerfulness which had to have been forced. “A man down the street from here is selling roasted chestnuts. He says he wishes to earn enough money to buy his young son a new toy.”

Javert cautiously took the hot packet from Madeleine’s hand. The chestnuts were well-cooked and he ate one, chewing thoughtfully.

“I am surprised, Monsieur le Maire,” he said, surprising himself with the discovery of as note of humour in his voice. “From your reputation, I would have assumed you to give him all he requires and more, and refused even the chestnuts you purchased in exchange.”

Madeleine’s eyes widened, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards.

“From your reputation, Javert, I would have assumed you unable to make such a comment.”

Javert scowled and ate another chestnut.

“At least allow me to repay you for breakfast,” he said, reaching into his pocket for his coin purse. A coin purse – which was not there.

Baffled, Javert searched the other pockets of his greatcoat, then reached into his bag and began rummaging frantically. There was no trace of the purse in any of his pockets. Anger flared, and Javert whirled on Madeleine.

“I see how it is. What, are you a thief? Is this how you claim your wealth as mayor? The honourable man, who steals from those he claims to protect and gives them back a fraction which he then calls charity. The poor, foolish Sergeant, so easy to trust his superiors – why, he receives no charity at all, merely a handful of chestnuts.”

Madeleine’s face turned to thunder. For a moment Javert thought the man may be about to strike him. He strode forward and squared his shoulders, fists clenching. His jaw worked furiously as he seemed to choose his words with terrifying care and precision.

“I am many things, Monsieur Javert, and I may bear many words with many wounds. But I would thank you, officer, never to call me such a thing.”

Javert curled his lip and glared.

“If not you, who else? You and I were alone in that room, and neither my bag nor my coat have been let from my sight since my departure from Montreuil save while I slept. Even before we arrived here, you were sitting by my side on the carriage.”

“There is no proof of guilt.”

“There is no proof of innocence.”

With a cry of fury, Madeleine tore his own bag and greatcoat from his shoulders, tossing them to the ground at Javert’s feet.

“Here!” he spat. “If you wish to treat me like filth for a crime I did not commit, then search my possessions. Rake them in the dirt, steal what you wish for your own. I have seen how those who call themselves police treat those they have but half a cause to suspect.”

The change which came over the calm and kindly mayor was almost enough to render him unrecognizable. Fury blazed in his eyes and his clenched fists. Javert stood firm, refusing to flinch. He snatched up the coat and the bag, and took his time searching through each. In the coat, a handful of coins were to be found, but when Javert inspected them he saw they amounted to only a small fraction of what had been taken from him. When he searched through the bag, he found very little of note; some clothes, and a pair of old yet polished silver candlesticks. His fingers eventually found a small coin purse, but no – it was empty. The anger faded, to be replaced by a deeper sense of dread.

“No,” he said, “Monsieur le Maire, I did not wish to accuse you so hastily. I felt I had enough evidence to justify my statements, but it seems we have both been taken for fools.”

He held up Madeleine’s empty purse in one hand. The mayor stared in confusion, then attempted to smile.

“I suppose, at least, we have our tickets already,” he said. “Though this is certainly inconvenient. I shall return your lost finances upon our return to Montreuil-sur-Mer.”

“But surely we must find the perpetrator of this crime!”

Madeleine waved his hand, and spoke in his typical, inscrutably calm manner as he walked in the direction of the town square.

“Those who resort to theft rarely have any other recourse. Besides, we must both continue on. If you wish you may inform the local authorities before we continue, but I fear you will not have much time.”

Seething inwardly, Javert thrust his hands deep into his empty pockets, and followed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry y'all, I was called in for some last-minute all-day overtime at work and a man needs the extra cash this time of year, often at the tragic expense of a couple of days of his writing. I hope there's no hard feelings

It felt like half the Seine was filling Javert’s boots. In truth, the Oise did not connect with the Seine for some distance, but the sting of it remained all the same. Just a little further along the river, Paris; Paris, with its reliable transportation and well-paved roads, where a man could get a fiacre to Montfermeil with almost laughable ease. If he had not been somehow condemned to suffer a terrible, halting journey bound to Monsieur Madeleine, Javert could be sailing contentedly up the Seine without so much as a thought standing between him and his duty. Instead, he felt more as though he was drowning in it.

*

The carriage waiting in the town square that morning had been empty, with only the driver nearby. He had glanced up with an expression that reminded Javert of a habitual petty criminal, caught for the tenth time or more; neither apologetic nor frightened, but sheepish. Javert knew what he was about to hear, and groaned inwardly, but asked nonetheless.

“How are the roads today?”

“Ah, well. As I told you yesterday, Monsieur, we were able to find strong men who would help us in our efforts to clear the road of those fallen rocks. However, in the course of our labour, we found that the road bank was quite seriously destabilized. We could only clear a portion of the rockfall, as any further efforts would only have resulted in worsening the damage and endangering the men.”

“I see.”

“I am glad you stopped in time,” added Madeleine, stood by Javert’s shoulder. "Many employers would have risked their workers’ lives for the sake of finishing a contract, or saving a few francs along the way.”

The driver shook his head.

“No, Monsieur, I would not. My brother lost his hand to a man like that.” He sighed, giving a languid shrug. “Ah, such is life.”

“And the road?” Javert said, by way of prompting him. The driver seemed to straighten back into professionalism.

“Yes, the road. Further ahead, past the blockage, is a town on the banks of the Oise. There is a boat there which you might catch, which will take you to Paris. I cannot offer you a full return of your fare – half the ride and then some has already passed, and I must eat this winter. I can return some portion, however.” 

“Thank you,” said Javert, and at the same instant Madeleine stepped just slightly forward and said “There is no need.”

The driver looked back and forth, uncertain.

“Keep your fare,” said Madeleine again. “You do not control the weather, after all – you could not have known that our path would be barred.”

“Thank you, Monsieur!” said the driver with a smile. “I will save this towards our Christmas meal. My girl will be thrilled.”

“It is no trouble at all.”

This, in Javert’s view, was far from the truth. As they turned from the carriage and headed towards the road, he voiced as much.

“Have you forgotten, Monsieur le Maire, that we have no money? That we have been robbed? Your political influence does not extend so far as this.”

To Javert’s surprise, Madeleine laughed. The winter sunlight dappled his face through the criss-cross branches of the slumbering trees. Pale golden skin and grey-white hair, he looked for an instant as though he was not a man, but a winter’s sun made flesh and bone. Javert’s breath caught in his throat. He blamed the cold.

“This season is a season for kindness, is it not? The charity and goodwill of our fellow man will take us to Montfermeil.”

“I would rather be taken there by a horse.”

Madeleine laughed again – oh, such a sweet sound – and looked to Javert.

“My goodness, Javert, you are proving yourself quite the comic lately.”

“I have no idea what you mean, Monsieur,” replied Javert, the chill air pinking his cheeks.

“I am sure you don’t.” He moved as though to clap Javert on the shoulder, but seemed to decide against it, and instead rubbed his hands together. “Come, now. We must start while the sun is still high.”

“I shall find us a cabriolet, or perhaps some horses.”

“Nonsense.” Javert looked back in confusion, to see Madeleine smiling. “It is a beautiful day, and the driver said it is not too far. We shall walk.”

He had already begun striding away before Javert found the words to voice a protest.

The walk was long. Javert’s breath came in clouds about his head. At least the night’s chill had hardened the ground, freezing what could have been mud into something more solid and thereby easier to walk on. He had several inches of height on Madeleine and thus a longer stride, but saw no need to slow his pace. It seemed Madeleine had little trouble matching him. His fondness for long walks, Javert reasoned, must have built up his stamina for circumstances like these. For a time, the two walked in almost companionable silence.

It was Madeleine who spoke first.

“Javert, I told you already to call me Madeleine.”

“Yes, Monsieur. And I have given my response.”

“I know,” he replied with a handwave, “But I have to offer my own, and more considered, reasoning.”

Javert quirked an eyebrow.

“Oh? Then by all means, do share it.”

“You insist on referring to me by my title, as would be considered proper. However you have failed to consider our current position as two men, traveling alone. To use my title is to risk alerting potential thieves, or worse.”

“We have precious little else which could be stolen.”

“A life is a precious thing.”

Javert snorted at that, and ignored the way Madeleine looked at him. He considered the man’s reasoning.

“I agree,” he said at last, “that a thief or bandit may assume a mayor to be a man of wealth. If we are targeted, we will be far from help. I shall refer to you as Monsieur Madeleine.”

“Not simply Madeleine?”

“I will remain formal, Monsieur.”

“Ah, it is a start.”

The silence rose again, and the pair walked on.

At length, just as Javert was beginning to tire of the walk, a cart came up alongside them. The driver, a man traveling with a very pregnant woman Javert assumed to be his wife, leaned over.

“Good afternoon,” he said conversationally, in a rough accent Javert recognized from a small town some way to the north. “Are you folks traveling far?”

“Our carriage could not pass the road,” Madeleine told him. “We are walking to the next town, where we might board a boat to Paris.”

“Now there’s a happy coincidence. I am on my way in that direction on much the same errand. I have some merchandise which needs sent upon a boat through Paris.”

He jerked a thumb towards the back of the cart, which appeared mostly to contain straw and a few crates.

“Might I offer you a ride? The walk may take longer than the sun will allow.”

“That would be very kind of you.” Madeleine gave Javert a pointed glance. There was something satisfied in the upturned corner of his mouth. “Thank you, Monsieur-?”

“Giry.”

“Monsieur Giry, thank you. We have no money-“

“Oh, don’t worry about payment. The pay I’ll get off my goods will serve me fine, and it’s no diversion from our original route. Hop in the back and I’ll have you there within the hour.”

Madeleine smiled and inclined his head in thanks. With a grudging nod, Javert climbed into the cart.

Straw shifted under his boots, and Javert realised with a jolt that the cart was not simply for transporting crates. There was a litter of piglets curled in one corner. Beside them, a dog lifted its head and growled. Javert glared back and sat down atop one of the crates. Madeleine climbed in after him.

“What did I tell you, Javert? The kindness and goodwill of our fellow man.”

“A coincidence,” he retorted, “Nothing more.”

The dog in the corner growled again. Javert settled his chin against his chest and spoke little as they continued. As the cart rattled onwards, Madeleine seemed to develop a fascination with the dog. From the corner of his eye Javert watched as he stretched out a hand, coaxing the animal closer. He was half expecting the beast to savage his hand. It certainly looked the type; a working dog, dark and bristling fur shot with grey, guarding its fellow creatures from any strange human who might dare approach. Yet somehow, Madeleine’s coaxing seemed to have an effect. It took him almost the full hour, but by the time they arrived at the port town the dog lay with its head in the mayor’s lap, grumbling softly in contentment as Madeleine scratched its ears. At last, he looked up, and coloured slightly as he caught Javert’s eye.

“I always liked animals,” he said, supplying the answer to an unasked question. “This dog is a magnificent creature. So noble in his duty, and so loyal.”

“I never much cared for them,” replied Javert.

“I often wished for a dog, as a boy. Now I don’t know if my life as mayor would truly permit me to care for one. A cat, perhaps. There are too many strays in Montreuil.”

“A stray man, a stray dog; all are trouble.”

“And all can be transformed with nothing more than a warm bed, a fresh meal, and a kind hand.”

Madeleine smiled, though Javert suspected it was directed towards the dog. He let out a low huff and fell silent, thinking of the cat he had seen those boys chase the previous day.

When at last they disembarked Javert waited by the port while Javert thanked the driver profusely. They were too far for Javert to clearly make out any of their conversation, but he saw the man smiling, and his wife let out a soft laugh. A moment later and they drove off while Madeleine stepped into the office of the port official. He chose then to look out along the river, sweeping his eye across the boats. There were trading barges, large and solid, with steamboats in between for travel purposes and small, personal rowing boats and the like dotted between. As he watched, his mind wandered back to the conversation. Madeleine saw no fault in using his charm to gain favours. A small, nagging part of Javert’s mind pointed out that Madeleine had been almost nothing but charming to him their whole journey. What favour could he want from Javert?

The thought was pushed from his mind by Madeleine’s reappearance, smiling and motioning for Javert to approach.

“Here,” he said, passing Javert a ticket. “I spent the last of our coins upon these. You may get to Paris this way, and if you explain your predicament I am sure there are those in the Paris prefecture who will assist you in your travel to Montfermeil.”

“And yourself?” asked Javert. Madeleine nodded.

“I will be journeying with you as well, yes, though we have been assigned different compartments within the vessel. I shall be in one, and you another. Perhaps…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “No, never mind that. Here is your ticket.”

“Monsieur le – Monsieur Madeleine, I only apologise I have been unable to pay my way thus far. I assure you, I will return the expenses to you upon your return to Montreuil-sur-Mer.”

“Nonsense! It was no hardship.” Madeleine’s face softened, a sadness in his eyes belying the smile upon his lips. “I would ask you visit, however. I find I have enjoyed our discussions, and it is prudent for a mayor to know the comings and goings of his police force. Regular meetings with the town’s inspector should be instituted.”

Javert felt his brow crease in puzzlement.

“I am no inspector.”

“You have proven yourself to be more adaptable and reliable than many of the other contenders for the position. I shall have a word with the chief inspector. A personal recommendation.”

“Thank you, Monsieur Madeleine.”

To Javert’s surprise, he found he sincerely meant the words. He also felt, with a strange twinge to his chest, that he may actually enjoy giving his reports as inspector to Madeleine. He had not an inkling why Madeleine may enjoy his conversations, but a report was one thing, and a conversation another. Javert liked reports, for one.

They made their way together to the steam boat, bustling with activity as it readied itself for departure. Madeleine looked back towards Javert with one final smile before boarding. Javert nodded his response, and made his way to his assigned seat.

The walk was beginning to take its toll on him. With nothing ahead save a journey down the river, he sank gratefully into the seat and let his eyes slip shut. A rest was certainly in order. Somewhere else on the vessel he assumed Madeleine was doing the same. It would be a smoother journey than the carriage, and would surely afford a less tense rest than the lodging house. With a sigh, feeling the tension ease from his shoulders, Javert let himself drift towards sleep.

If asked, he would not consider himself to have been lulled to sleep by the steady pulse of the engine; however, he was certainly woken suddenly by its absence. Hoping to find himself in Paris, Javert looked outside, and saw only a barren landscape of mud-drenched fields. From the front of the boat, an announcement was made, and passed down by passengers. A malfunctioning engine. A coach being sent for to meet them at the road. Two fields to cross, then an onward journey. And apologies for any damages or inconvenience, but the gangplank is not long enough to rest fully on the shore. To reach land, passengers must wade through the shallows.

Javert could have wept.

As he walked through the shallow water – so shallow, he thought bitterly, that it only reached his knees – Javert thought he saw Madeleine carrying a young woman so that she would not have to wade or splash as the rest of the passengers. But it was all only for a moment, and they were soon gone.

And so, with the Seine filling his boots and weighing him down into the muck, Javert walked on alone.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everybody who has been celebrating the past few days had a wonderful time! The conversation dominating the second half of this chapter is based almost verbatim on a debate I once had with a religious studies teacher in high school. I still think myself and Madeleine were right

When at last he reached the road, Madeleine was already waiting there, and offered Javert a rueful smile in greeting.

“Please take no offence,” he said, “but I had rather hoped we would not meet like this again on our journey.”

“I could have said the same.”

Javert was in no mood to talk, but somehow Madeleine seemed to deserve an answer. A mark of respect, he supposed. He could not simply ignore his superior. Besides, all around them people were gossiping and complaining. At least Madeleine was a familiar face. 

A young man walked from the field with a pronounced limp, and when he sat by the roadside he pulled back his trouser leg to expose a nasty gash. Madeleine followed Javert’s gaze and hissed in sympathy.

“The riverbank was snared with thorns and stones,” he murmured. “This poor boy must have failed to find a safe route by.”

He pushed past Javert and walked over, kneeling beside the young man and talking in a low voice. Javert was surprised to see a blush colour the boy’s cheeks as they spoke, and which deepened as Madeleine touched the exposed skin of his leg. After a moment he beckoned Javert closer.

“Javert, you are a man of authority – please could you find some alcohol? Anything will do, but strong spirits best of all.”

Javert nodded and made his way through the crowd, searching in particular for one young man he had noticed as the boat departed. He found him leaning against a tree, as relaxed as a man on holiday despite the mud staining his trousers and the leaf caught in his dark curls. In one hand, he held a large bottle of what looked to be whiskey.

“Give me your bottle,” Javert said. The youth sneered.

“Sorry, pal, but if you don’t pay for it then you don’t drink it.” He paused, chuckling to himself, and took another drink. “That is, unless you’re very, very good at not paying for things.”

The book of the law opened with a thump in Javert’s mind. He squared his shoulders and glared.

“A thief has no place in civilized society.”

“Ah, to hell with society,” replied the young man. Javert bristled. The sight seemed to make the young man laugh. “Yes, to hell with the lot of it. Don’t tell me you don’t see it in the air.”

“You are a drunk,” Javert said simply, “and a thief, and I require the bottle for medical purposes. I will return it.”

“So pay me.”

With a triumphant snort, Javert reached into his pocket and showed the boy his police papers. It would be a lie to pretend he was not gratified when the boy’s face turned pale.

“Your payment shall be that I do not arrest you, and instead will only supply the authorities with your description.”

“How generous,” the boy spat, and held out the bottle. “To hell with you, too.”

“If so, I shall meet you there.”

With that, Javert turned and made his way back to Madeleine. In his absence, it seemed the mayor had busied himself tearing strips of fabric from the cloth which had previously wrapped his candlesticks. He took the bottle from Javert with grateful hands and knelt once more over the young man’s wound. Concentration drew a soft crease between his eyebrows. He doused one of the rags in the alcohol, then hesitated.

“Here,” he said gently, and held out the bottle towards the boy. “Drink a little. This may hurt, and I have heard alcohol makes an impressive numbing agent.”

Looking suddenly rather pale, the young man took a swig and grimaced. Madeleine nodded. With a decisive motion, he pressed the soaked rag against the wound. The young man yelped and bit his lip, but did not flinch. Madeleine spoke as he worked in the same tone he had used to coax the dog into his lap.

“The mud in the river may have gotten into the wound. The alcohol is going to keep it clean and reduce infection,” he explained. “I am sorry, I know it is unpleasant. Once the wound is clean I will bind it so it is shut and no more dirt may enter. With luck, it should heal fully in just a week or two.”

He poured some more whiskey over the injury and then wrapped the remaining strips of cloth tightly around the boy’s leg. Javert watched with a quick and curious eye. Where on earth did a gentleman learn this sort of improvised treatment? Madeleine’s movements were precise, not unexpected for a man who made his fortune in jewellery and beads, and yet still Javert found himself oddly fixed upon those swift and gentle movements of his hands. When he had finished, Madeleine stood and stretched out a hand to help the boy to his feet. His cheeks turned pink as he accepted the offered support and rose unsteadily.

“Thank you, Monsieur.”

“You are most welcome,” replied Madeleine. “though I would advise you watch the wound closely, and call for a doctor if it becomes inflamed or refuses to heal. Are you traveling with somebody who can assist you?”

The young man nodded.

“Yes, I am visiting Paris with my- my friend. I do not know where he has gone. Perhaps he is still making his way here from the boat, for I know he stopped to assist an older woman.” He glanced around, eyes brightening as they landed upon the figure of a tall young man with blond hair about his shoulders. “Why, I believe – Alexandre!” 

“Louis?”

The blond man turned and beamed, hurrying towards them. His smile faded a little when he saw Louis with his hand on Madeleine’s arm. A hint of discontent formed upon his brow.

“Who is this?”

“I injured my leg,” Louis explained, reaching out for Alexandre as he stepped forward on uncertain feet. “This man helped me to clean and dress the wound.”

Madeleine inclined his head.

“It was the least I could do.”

“Thank you, Monsieur,” said Alexandre earnestly, his anger clearing as he reached out to shake Madeleine’s hand. His other arm was wrapped around Louis’ waist, a gesture of support which to Javert’s mind seemed a little too familiar. This image was not dispelled by the eager way Louis leant in to the half-embrace. With a smile, Madeleine turned away.

“We are going to wait for the carriage. I hope you will sit and rest your leg a little, Monsieur Louis.”

He walked back towards the rest of the gathered passengers. Javert made to walk after him, then hesitated. After a moment’s deliberation he picked the whiskey bottle from the ground and made his way back to the youth from whom he had taken it.

“As promised,” he said, passing the bottle across. The young man eyed it warily.

“An officer keeping his promises? That’ll be a first.”

“I am a man of my word. The Paris prefecture will receive a detailed description of your appearance upon our arrival.”

The youth drank deeply and shook his head.

“No matter. The place has yet to recover from the revolution. Perhaps it will be men like me who make something of it.”

“I doubt it.”

Javert made his way back to Madeleine, who was looking at the sky. Following his gaze Javert could make out a hawk soaring above a barren field, black against the bright grey cloud. For a while, neither man spoke.

A pair of carriages came at last just as a soft rain was beginning to fall. Javert and the other assembled passengers climbed in gratefully, seated almost uncomfortably close to one another in an attempt to hasten departure and accommodate all those waiting. Javert found himself in the corner of the carriage, Madeleine pressed to his side, and with Louis and Alexandre sitting nearby. In the confined space it was almost possible to miss it, but Javert’s trained eye picked up on a subtle movement. The young men had their fingers linked, hands tightly clasped in a half-hidden shadow.

He did not intend to watch the pair, but something must have shown on his face for Madeleine nudged him gently. Javert realised all too late that a heat had risen in his cheeks, his mouth a thin line.

“Leave them be,” said Madeleine, and though his voice was soft it had an edge of steel. “They are harming nobody.”

“I did nothing.”

“And you will do nothing. Neither law nor Lord forbids love, Javert.”

The word made the interminable blush creep higher into Javert’s face. He felt it happen, felt the quickening in his heartbeat and the tremor fighting its way into his voice. Madeleine, either oblivious or kind, continued without commenting upon it.

“They are young, and a little foolish. But they are sweet boys. Alexandre must dote upon him, the way he glared at my hand upon his arm.” Here Madeleine chuckled. “They are no cause for alarm.”

A family with two young children settled into the seats nearest Madeleine, and the conversation ceased. Javert silently blessed the family for interrupting the conversation. He had no wish to know Madeleine’s thoughts on such a matter; now he did know, he hadn’t the first idea what to do with the information. Was the matter something Madeleine had paid much thought to? Surely not - no man without need should trouble himself with such things, and Javert could not bring himself to accuse another of having any need. The thought was too terrible to entertain. As for Madeleine’s calm and easy answer, it must be no more than his damnable charity. The man had never condemned any other, even when presented with proof of his crimes. Javert had heard the complaints muttered by fellow officers from the moment of his arrival. Still, the thought sat unmoving in his head and uneasy in the pit of his stomach.

The carriage rolled and swayed along the rough country lane, more unsteady than any ship Javert had known. His mind was busy with the Sisyphean effort of holding himself upright, refusing to allow himself the weakness of leaning against Madeleine for support. Left unchecked by this distraction of his willpower, Javert found his focus shifting time and again back onto the two young men. They were laughing together, looking from the windows and chattering excitedly about their plans upon arriving in Paris. After a time they seemed to tire. Javert attempted to look away, though snatches of their conversation reached him despite his efforts. It seemed as though Louis had an aunt he was eager to introduce Alexandre to, and some friends of theirs were in Paris for the holiday season.

Was it always so easy, between boys? Javert was not yet forty and yet his youth felt so far removed from these young men and their optimism, their discreetly clasped fingers and carefree smiles. His own younger days always seemed to taste of bitter shame, of blood from bitten tongues and harsh blows. Even his mother, living in such sin as she did, had seen his failings and judged him. Once, when he was very small, he had witnessed her praying he would grow from this unnatural curse. Javert knew, now, that men like him could not change. He only hoped that others could instead.

It was all Madeleine’s damned fault! Without this terrible pilgrimage Javert would perhaps have remained for years unbothered by his old desires, for he had forgotten them in the gutter from which he had risen. But here the mayor had crept, unpicking every stitch and forcing every lock with no more than a smile and a relentless, terrible kindness. Javert had to exert all of his strength to suppress a shiver as his treacherous mind remembered the feel of Madeleine’s beard upon his neck, holding Javert so tightly in his arms. Now the sensation of Madeleine’s strong body pressed to his side was but a parody, a poor imitation of that one forbidden embrace. It was intolerable.

Dragging himself to full awareness, Javert shook his head and took a deep breath. In a moment of foolish paranoia he feared somehow his thoughts had been given voice, and that every passenger – Madeleine above all – would be ready to condemn and destroy him; but no such condemnation came. Madeleine was talking with the children in a soft and playful tone. As Javert turned his head to listen he recognized the words as a tale from the Bible; the miracle of the five thousand fed from just two fish and a mouthful of bread. The children seemed in awe.

“There is never too little food that we might not share some with our fellows,” Madeleine said. “If one has none and one has plenty, then is it not fair for the one with plenty to give a little to the one with none?”

“But where did he get the rest of the bread?” asked a child; the girl, the older of the two. Madeleine gave a shrug.  
“With God, all things are possible. Perhaps it truly was some divine miracle, bread manifest from nothing but air.”

“You sound as if you do not believe yourself,” Javert said. The sound of his own voice was jarring; he had not granted himself permission to speak. Madeleine turned to him with a look of surprise, his eyes sharp and intent despite the softness of his voice.

“I believe that faith can lead to many great things,” he replied, “but charity is as much a part of God as any miracle.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Say you were to try and feed everybody on this carriage. What do you have that you would give them?”

Madeleine leaned towards Javert, eyes shining in the thrill of oncoming debate. Under most circumstances Javert would be disinclined to rise to such a bait, but there was little else to be done, and the children had begun peering at him too.

“I have nothing,” he answered, “save the half-bag of chestnuts in my pocket which you bought for me this morning.”

Madeleine clapped his hands.

“Excellent! So, with those chestnuts, I propose we might feed every man aboard this carriage to his satisfaction.”

At that, Javert openly scoffed.

“Absurd.”

“If you would, my dear Javert, I would like to demonstrate to you that you are mistaken.”

The simple endearment struck Javert to the bone. Though he knew in his mind it was nothing more than a further component of their ruse, their supposed friendship, his heart cracked in an attempt to set out unprecedented roots. Momentarily rendered speechless, he handed Madeleine the bag of chestnuts without a word. Madeleine’s reply was no more than a smile as warm as the hearth.

“Here,” he said, holding the bag open and offering it to the children. “My young friends, would you like to share my lunch with me?”

“Yes please!” said the girl, reaching eagerly for the bag. “Thank you, Monsieur!” 

She took three, handing one to her brother and another to her mother who was now watching Madeleine with interest. Next he leaned forward and smiled at Louis.

“Pardon me, Louis, Alexandre – would you care for some of my lunch?”

“Thank you,” said Alexandre with a bemused smile, “But I do not like chestnuts.”

“I do,” said Louis in an instant, taking the bag and popping one into his mouth. “Don’t be a bore, Alexandre – we have some biscuits in your bag, won’t you offer him some?”

“Thank you very much,” said Madeleine. “Please, offer my bag to the others in this carriage. Tell them I have invited them to share.”

Louis did so, and Javert watched the paper bag change hands in a halting journey to the front of the carriage and back down. Alexandre, who had been rummaging in his bag, straightened at last with a soft cry of triumph holding a slightly battered tin.

“Biscuits, Monsieur,” he said. “Take one – take two, give one to your friend.”

Javert huffed at the insinuation that they might be friends, but did accept the proffered biscuit. The young girl on Madeleine’s other side tapped Alexandre’s outstretched arm.

“Excuse me, but may I have one?”

“Certainly, Mademoiselle,” replied Alexandre. The girl laughed at being addressed in such a formal manner. Her mother hushed her.

“Don’t be eating all their food,” she said.

“Oh but Mama, don’t we have sandwiches?” The girl turned back to face Alexandre, looking solemn in the way only a young child can. “Monsieur, if I give you half of my sandwich, that would not be eating all of your food, would it? And then I could have a biscuit.”

“If you would like.” Alexandre shot a questioning glance towards the girl’s parents. “If your mama says so, I would be grateful for a small bite.”

From a little further up the carriage, Javert heard two or three voices raise above the general chatter.

“I have two apples, if anyone has a pocket knife and would like me to cut them a few pieces.”

“Here.” This voice Javert recognized as the drunken youth from before. “I have no food, but a little drink and a pocket knife to offer.”

“Then give me your knife, and we shall share my apple and your drink.”

Such exchanges seemed to rise in clusters between all groups of passengers. The children and their parents sat opposite Alexandre and Louis, and between them they seemed to have quite the picnic. By the time Javert’s bag of chestnuts made its return it contained only two chestnuts, but with them were a few small fruits, a squashed pastry, and a large piece of bread and cheese. Madeleine beamed as Javert looked into it.

“You see, Javert? One true charitable act will always encourage another.”

“Then it is not truly charitable,” countered Javert, “For you expect a reward.”

“A charitable act may be nothing more than a smile,” Madeleine replied. “And yet in this case, it seems our return is quite the lunch. Do you want the pastry, or the cheese? I must admit I am quite tempted by these fruits.”

Javert weighed the prospect in his mind. The food before him was freely given, though it felt more than his due. It may be seen as a bribe, or as some theft by claiming more than his right. His stomach growled.

“The pastry,” he said. As Madeleine handed it over Javert continued. “I still do not believe this a miracle. Hardly are there five thousand men here.”

“The Lord’s word is foremost a word preaching kindness and charity. By placing his followers into groups and asking them to share what little he had to give, Christ opened their hearts and prompted them to offer the little they had each brought as well. Between any group, there was enough to feed them all.” He looked into the bag again and chuckled. “Not quite twelve baskets, but I believe two chestnuts is not bad.”

Javert shook his head and bit into the pastry, hoping that it would hide the smile threatening to reach his lips.


	5. Chapter 5

Another town and another change of carriage followed. Javert found he was becoming all too accustomed to the routine. It was better, at least, than some of the other stops they had made – larger, with finer inns and cleaner streets, but still a far cry from Paris. The horses were exhausted, the coach drivers had explained, and the roads were treacherous during this soot-dark early night; it was better to rest often, than to risk some accident along the way. Javert understood the reasoning. This did not mean he had to be content with it.

“Might we not simply change the horses?” he muttered from the small gap separating the brim of his hat and the high collar of his greatcoat, turned up high against the rain. Beside him, collar similarly raised but otherwise seemingly unbothered by the weather, Madeleine sighed gently.

“That is not so easily done for such a set of carriages,” he replied, “Certainly not without notice, or money to spare. Besides, fresh horses will surely not solve all of the problems ahead.”

Javert snorted. A drop of rainwater fell from his hat and landed upon his chest.

“The night falling so fast? Pah. Light some lanterns at the head of each carriage and drive with caution.”

“And the drivers? Don’t they deserve their rest?”

Madeleine’s tone was almost reproachful. Javert shifted his weight from one foot to the other, hoping to keep the feeling in his toes. It seemed a losing battle against the swift approach of cold and ruthless night.

“Surely they would rather take a bed in Paris than a bench in some inn or some straw pallet in a lodging house?”

“You forget, Javert,” said Madeleine, mocking as always in his kindness, “that not every man is as stoic as yourself. I do not doubt you would walk without rest or thought of ceasing, should you believe that which you most sought was awaiting you at your journey’s end. I have done the same, in my time. But these men are simply men, and men must rest.”

It was difficult to say whether it was meant as a compliment or as the opposite. Javert blinked a handful of times.

“I suppose,” he began grudgingly, “it might serve us better to find a place to sit where the heavens do not persist upon remaining open.”

Madeleine smiled.

“Lead the way. I shall follow.”

Javert kept his shoulders square as he walked, oddly rattled in the face of Madeleine’s instructions. It seemed somehow wrong for him to lead; Madeleine, his mayor despite the miles between them and Montreuil, should be ahead, Javert the faithful servant like all police to all politicians, no matter how they might spit and rage against it in the private of their souls, ever sworn to follow. But the world was proving itself more inclined to madness by the day. A terrible weariness began to seize Javert then, to coil about his heart and ensnare his bones. What had he done to deserve such a fate as this, walking and trailing forever without ever reaching a destination apart from his own dreadful confusion? 

His stomach growled terribly. Javert wondered if he might stop to eat something; he would not ask, and could go longer with less if he must, but perhaps some restaurant or inn would serve well as a place for them to wait a while. With this in mind, his eyes searched the streets and soon found that which they sought.

“Would this suit, Monsieur?” he asked. Madeleine nodded.

“This seems like it will suit nicely.”

They were almost at the door to the inn when Javert stopped, a sudden thought striking him.

“Monsieur Madeleine… Pardon me, I forgot. I have no money. I shall wait here.”

He gestured to a bench beneath an awning, mostly sheltered from the rain. It may have been his imagination, but it seemed to Javert that Madeleine had turned pale.

“Nor do I. My mistake.”

For a moment they stood. Javert contemplated the options before them as rain continued to fall, and the last of the sunlight truly faded away. With no money, they could not eat, nor could they make their own way onwards. They would have to wait all night in the rain, stood guard by the carriage, with nowhere to rest else they would become no better than beggars. Javert gritted his teeth, his lip curling at the very thought. A promotion to Montreuil-sur-Mer? Some promise. He was back in the gutter with empty pockets and sinful thoughts. Javert was no better than he had ever been. He was a fool to have allowed himself to believe otherwise.

The sounds of shifting fabric and wet footsteps dragged Javert back to his senses. He lifted his head and blinked the raindrops from his eyes to see Madeleine making his way to the stable by the inn. As Javert watched, Madeleine exchanged a few words with an older man who was brushing down a horse. He smiled, then, and waved for Javert to approach. He did so with wary step.

“Monsieur?”

“Javert!” he said, smiling. “Monsieur Albert here says we may sit a while with him, until the rain passes us by. The work here is all his, naturally – but if there is a time when many guests come here at once, we might help, for a small share of their tips.”

“Delightful,” was Javert’s emotionless reply. Madeleine laughed.

“I apologise for my friend, Monsieur Albert. It has been a long day.”

Albert, a stout man with ruddy cheeks and greying whiskers, peered at Javert.

“An officer? Why come to me, and not to them?”

“I am from another prefecture,” Javert said. “They would not know me.”

It was truth enough. What Javert omitted was not a lie, for he had yet to admit it in such an articulate way to himself beyond the uneasy feeling in his gut. The truth, had Javert known it, was that he was all too aware of his appearance; his filthy clothing, tired and drawn expression, the edge of hunger surely now adorning the face that most police officers were naturally disinclined to trust. He looked the part of a criminal, no matter the coat he wore, merely due to the circumstances of his birth. Without his reputation, he had nothing worthy of respect.

Albert shrugged.

“Do as you please,” he said, turning back to the horse. “I’ve nothing to fear so long as you men stay honest.”

“Always, Monsieur,” replied Javert with a hint of sharpness. “That is what I have sworn to do.”

Madeleine chuckled.

“It’s true, Albert. You will find none stricter about the truth, if his reputation truthfully precedes him.”

He was sitting in one corner of the barn, perched upon an upended barrel while his hands worked a handful of straw. Javert watched, unsure if he was permitted to move closer. The straw bundles shivered beneath Madeleine’s skilled touch, each strand jumping and quivering at the precise brush of his fingers. It was almost as if it was alive. Yes; the unfeeling now brought to life, wood and straw and twine shifting and bending to his will. Javert’s mouth went dry. It had been too long since he had stopped for a drink. Madeleine’s hands moved, three fingers pinning the bundle of straw in position while his other hand took up the twine and bound the pieces tightly together. Javert swallowed. His tongue sat heavy in his mouth.

Madeleine lifted his head and caught Javert staring almost at the same moment Javert himself became aware of it. He coughed and made to avert his gaze, but Madeleine raised a hand, catching his attention. The bundle of straw had been shaped into a small doll, modeled to look like a horse. He gave Javert a sheepish smile.

“Old habits,” he said. A strange and wistful look came into his eye. He turned the horse over in his hands. “When I was a young man – younger, and poorer, by far – I would make these for my sister’s children. At this time of year… I always remember.”

Javert opened his mouth but found no words. Such sentimental matters were frankly always lost on him, and the bundle of straw seemed only a bundle of straw, no matter the shape it took. To Madeleine the matter must clearly be important, but that information alone was not enough to form a response.

“Here,” said Albert from across the barn, “Show me that, won’t you?”

“I can untie it if you don’t want the waste.”

“No, show me.”

Madeleine stood and handed Albert the doll. The groom looked it over for a few seconds, a broad smile slowly making its way across his face.

“My young boy would love a thing like this,” he said. “I’ll give you a sou, if you’ll let me take it home for him.”

“You do not-“

Javert shot Madeleine a withering glare, his stomach snarling in agreement, and at the same time Albert scoffed.

“Nonsense. My barn is free to sit in so long as you are not disrespectful or otherwise distasteful company. This is craftsmanship. One sou, and another if you can make a dog for my daughter too.” 

“I’ll have it done before the rain’s end.”

Pride laced the words. Javert felt a strange and petty satisfaction in the knowledge that Madeleine could possess any cardinal sin at all. Javert sat on a nearby bench and watched again as Madeleine worked, his clever hands finding no trouble in forming the dog Albert had requested. Once finished, he made more; a doll, rough human form with a scrap of sackcloth forming a dress, then another horse, a bird captured mid-flight, and a mouse with twine tail, and still he made more. As the rain continued to fall, Madeleine built up quite the menagerie, lined up with care beside him. Javert picked one up and turned it over in his hands. A wolf, posed as though howling at some unseen moon. The straw poking through wraps of twine gave a distinct impression of bristling fur.

The sound of rain against the roof began to fade and quieten, and Madeleine began packing the animals into his bag. The dog and the first of his horses were placed aside, with a nod to Albert indicating where they were. Albert smiled and passed over two sous, which Madeleine slipped into his pocket with a murmur of thanks.

“I wish you well, Monsieur Albert,” he said as the two men made to leave. “You are a kind man. God be with you.”

“And you, Monsieur.”

Though the rain had all but completely ceased falling, the streets were wet and littered with puddles. Javert wondered if his feet would ever become truly warm and dry again after so much of the day spent in filthy water and freezing winds.

“Why did you make so many?” he asked, halting and unused to asking such questions. “Are they presents for your sister’s children, the ones you are visiting?”

“My sister-?”

For an instant Madeleine looked truly baffled, and Javert’s throat tightened in the fear that he had overstepped. Then Madeleine’s expression cleared.

“It is not my sister I am visiting. Her children…” His voice turned wistful, eyes seeming to focus on something far away. “They would have been grown now. Should have been… The poor boy would be a man, and she and I left old.” Madeleine shook his head. His breath came in short, angry bursts. Javert’s fists curled in his pockets. In the splashing of their footsteps and the labour in his breathing, he fancied he could hear Madeleine forcing himself to remain calm. Some well of great emotion, some rage and sorrow, had been stirred within him and was threatening now to overspill. Javert felt his callous and calcified heart harden as he noted the scraps of information.

“They are to sell,” he said after a long stretch of silence. “Monsieur Albert thought them worth a sou. Perhaps if we were to sell more we might earn enough to make our way onwards. At the least, we might buy something to eat.”

They said no more. True to his word, Madeleine found them another inn to wait inside, cheaper and nearer the carriages than their first attempt. The toys went quickly; some paid more, for the privilege of choosing a certain one over another, while others simply took whichever was given first. One or two kind passers by gave an extra coin in their payment and refused to accept change. Javert bristled.

“Is this not begging?” he muttered. Madeleine waved goodbye to a small girl cradling her toy mouse and shook his head.

“Nonsense. I am selling what I have to sell, built through honest labour. If these people wish to leave a tip, I shall not turn them away. Not unless they are giving more than they can afford to give. That, I will not allow.”

When the last of the animals were sold, Madeleine stood, stretching in his weariness.

“I think,” he said, looking at the pile of coins they had amassed, “We might get some supper, now.”

Inside the inn was much warmer than the streets. Javert found a seat by the fireplace, one armchair and a wooden bench. The absence of a table was small price to pay for the warmth. As Madeleine ordered, Javert stretched out his feet, listened to his boot leather creak as it warmed by the fire. The hard wooden bench should not have felt so comfortable, but any respite from traveling was now a welcome one. Though his body rested, his mind remained busy. He turned over Madeleine’s strange outburst in his mind, but reached no conclusions. One possible reason for Madeleine’s journey eliminated, yes; but simply knowing that he was not visiting a sister raised more questions than it answered. Madeleine had never mentioned other relatives, nor had he any particular friends of note.

No, it was still as unclear as it had ever been. At least this time when Madeleine approached the strange sadness had left his face, and he was carrying two large bowls of some thick stew. His mouth watered at the smell.

“Here,” he said, handing one to Javert, “I have been assured this stew is the best in town.”

“Is that true?”

“It is true that I have been told it. Whether it is truly the best – well, I think a town deserves a better stew, but I would not complain. It smells delicious.”

Here, Madeleine sat down in the armchair with a contented sigh. Javert scoffed.

“Delicious may be a strong word.”

“Perhaps. But I am weary, and food tastes sweeter when you work for it a little longer.”

He had nothing to say to that. Instead Javert turned his attention wholly to the bowl in his hands, eating swiftly with little thought for the food’s taste. There was a certain anxiety now, rising underneath his skin, a restlessness at the thought they might be held up another night. They certainly did not have enough money between them to rent rooms, and Javert would rather walk to Paris alone than spend another night in the same bed as Monsieur Madeleine.

“I am going to hire a carriage,” he said, the moment he finished his meal. “Please, give me the coins – you sit here and enjoy your meal. I shall return when I find suitable transport.”

“Javert, if you were a lesser man, and I a more suspicious one, I would say you were trying to rob me.”

Anger ran hot for an instant before Javert realised, from the quirk of his lips and the tilt of his eyebrows, that Madeleine was joking. 

“If we are our own drivers, we will no longer find ourselves so subject to the whims of fate and inefficiency.”

As he left the inn, Javert wondered when he had begun thinking of it as ‘their’ journey rather than simply his own. The suggestion of his own sentimental weakness, however slight, left a bitter taste in his mouth. In hindsight, that bitterness did not serve him well in his efforts to find a horse and cart he might hire.

The first place he asked had nothing available, and the second had nothing suitable for two. If he wasn’t paying with Madeleine’s money, Javert thought he might have left alone then. By the third attempt he was growing to think that they might be better off waiting the night; but no, he would not suffer the humiliation again. It was only early evening, after all. There was time yet.

When he entered the fourth stable yard, frustration had furrowed his brow and darkened his eyes. A young woman working there saw him approach and waved away the other girl she had been talking with, smiling as she walked over.

“Good evening, Monsieur,” she said brightly. “How may I help you?”

Without a word, Javert pulled his police identification papers from his pocket.

“Mademoiselle, I am an officer of the law and as such I am requesting priority access to the hiring of one of your carts, and a horse, enough to transport myself and one other to Paris. I will pay, but I will not wait. By law, you are bound to assist me in my duties.”

The girl’s face had clouded at the sight of his papers, but now her expression turned positively murderous.

“Is that so, Monsieur? Officer?”

She spoke the last word as though it was poison on her tongue, spitting it to the ground. Javert bristled and stepped backwards.

“Pardon me, Mademoi-“

“No, you will listen. I have seen your papers, and I have seen the papers I must answer to, and they are not the same. You will not demand such things of me. Even if they were to ask, do you think I would stand for such impudence? My family run a respectable business, Monsieur, we have done so for many years and I will not have strangers making demands of me without so much as a good evening."

The young woman took another step forward, thunder in her eyes. For a moment Javert felt fear, then anger. This was no way to be spoken to by some insolent girl.

“You would deny me, a customer?”

The young woman laughed. The girl with whom she had been speaking glanced over, head tilted to one side, clearly hoping to listen in on the argument.

“A customer, he says! I decide who may frequent my business, and I decide who to turn from my door. You have no authority here, and even less in the way of manners. I would do without your custom, and ask that you leave now, before I send for someone with real authority to arrest you for trespass.”

“At least tell me where else I might go to find transport.”

“For all I care, Monsieur? To hell.”

Javert curled his lip in disgust and made his way back into the streets. A less dignified man might have cried out in frustration. He simply curled his hands into fists so tight that the nails threatened to draw blood, and clenched his teeth. So distracted was he by his own anger, so caught up in the rage and frustration, that he did not see the cart speeding towards him until it was too late.

Wheels turned to thunder in his ears, an impact he felt deep in his chest and stomach. Javert thought perhaps he might throw up, his stomach turned so, and though the driver had almost turned away in time the cart struck his shoulder hard. Javert fell hard against the cobblestones and cried out in shock and pain. The cart wheeled and tilted, horses rearing wildly. It felt as though time slowed down. Javert watched with horrific clarity as the barrels and crates slipped to one side, as one wheel lifted from the ground and the driver screamed aloud. He closed his eyes, ready for the impact.

The impact never came. Another sound came to his attention, somewhere below his awareness but slowly coming into focus. The sound of a man grunting, as though straining beneath an immense wait. Slowly, Javert opened his eyes, and gazed in astonishment at the sight which greeted him.

Monsieur Madeleine was bracing his back against the tilting cart, holding it in position by sheer strength alone. His muscles strained, his face red with exertion, but his eyes remained calm and clear. There was no fear in Madeleine’s eyes. He trusted in his ability to do this. Somehow, that was the thing which shocked Javert most. With an effort, Madeleine straightened and pushed the cart back onto its wheels, steadying to load with sure hands while some bystanders came to soothe the horse with water and the driver with strong brandy.

When all was in its place once more, Madeleine held out a hand. Javert stared dumbly. For a few seconds neither moved, before Madeleine hesitantly reached down and helped Javert carefully to his feet.

“Are you hurt, my dear Javert?” he asked. Still breathing unevenly and flushed with terror, Javert shook his head.

“Not seriously. A bruise or two, but I will live. I can walk. I will heal.”

“Let me help you. Take my arm, and I will show you to our cart.”

“To our-?”

Confusion and fear still clouded his mind, but Javert forced himself to focus.

“You acquired transport.”

“I did. It is hardly glamorous, but it will serve us well. I will drive first. You should get some rest.”

The cart was indeed far from glamorous. It was a small affair, drawn by one horse, with room for two to site side by side upon the driver’s bench and a further two to sit within the covered area. Madeleine helped Javert inside and shut the door, before climbing up and taking the reins. Nursing his bruised arm, Javert settled back into the cushions and let another town slip away into the night.


End file.
